


Please Tread Lightly When Surrounded By Young Hobbits

by SailorFish



Series: Please Step Aside While Hobbitlings Continue Being Awesome [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Gen, M/M, Warning: silliness, tiny Hobbits having fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-01-21
Packaged: 2017-11-25 17:55:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/641468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorFish/pseuds/SailorFish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story of how Bilbo's blood pressure rose greatly when faced with tiny cousins, nieces, and nephews coming to visit Erebor for his and Thorin's wedding; a story of how nobody else noticed/cared because they were too busy squeeing at tiny Hobbits that barely reached their waists.</p><p>De-anoned from the kink meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by this prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/2235.html?thread=2409915#t2409915
> 
> It will be updated there first; the version here, however, will be the one revised and corrected for mistakes.

There were a lot of things that worried Bilbo. They were the usual things an about-to-get-married Hobbit would worry about: whether there'd be enough cake for the wedding, whether he'd get along with his yet unmet sister-in-law, whether he'd make a good royal consort... Alright, Bilbo had a few more worries than the average Hobbit groom.

And at the moment, the chief of these worries was the Hobbit delegation that was about to arrive.

Well, 'delegation' is perhaps too soft a word. It seemed as though half the Shire had decided to see for themselves what this 'Lonely Mountain' was all about, as well as why their own Mr. Baggins was supposed to be marrying a Dwarven king. Luckily, this was the more adventurous half (though that's perhaps not saying much); Bilbo was reasonably certain that the Tooks, the Brandybucks, and the rest of those brave enough to come would get along swell with their 'in-laws'.

No, what Bilbo was worried about specifically wasn't the adult Hobbits. It was the children.

It wasn't that he didn't trust Thorin and the rest; he did. With his life even! He just... didn't exactly trust them with the lives of tiny, oh-so-easily breakable Hobbit children.

So far, the youngest Dwarf Bilbo had seen was Gloin's son, Gimli; the lad was supposedly the Hobbit's equivalent of a tween and he looked as tough as... a very tough thing. Bilbo had almost fainted when, upon seeing the arrival of their young friend, Fili had given a loud war-whoop and _thrown a rock at Gimli's head_. Alright, so Gimli had been wearing a helmet, and it hadn't been a very large stone, and apparently it was all some sort of inside joke. But _still_.

Bilbo had wasted no time in telling the Dwarves that _throwing rocks at young Hobbits' heads_ would be unacceptable behaviour, and in general, just to Tread With Care. (Literally. He had had a nightmare yesterday about Bifur not looking where he was going and thus accidentally sending a baby Hobbit flying all the way accross the room with a kick.) And no matter how much Bilbo explained and warned and no matter how fervently the Dwarves promised him they'd be as gentle as with their own children ( _More gentle, please!_ said Bilbo after witnessing the Rock Throwing Incident), he knew wouldn't be able to sleep peacefully until the Shire-folk were either settled in, or had run back to the Shire.

So all in all, it was with quite a large amount of trepidation that Bilbo waited for the Hobbits to arrive. To smoothen matters, to calm his nerves, and to get Hobbits (especially Hobbitlings) acquainted with the concept of Dwarves, he had decided to ride out to meet them a little way from the slowly rebuilding Dale. With him rode Kili (as a representative of the Dwarven king and Bilbo's soon-to-be-husband's side of the family), Dwalin (as a representative of Thorin's most trusted warriors and thus the Dwarves' willingness to defend their new allies), and Ori (as a representative of the Least Scary Dwarves Bilbo could find).

Glancing at his companions, Bilbo nearly groaned. Kili was impatiently bouncing up and down on his horse, looking thrilled at the prospect of getting more family. Ori was fidgeting nervously, though perhaps there was a glimmer of excitement in his eyes (fighting in a huge battle and coming out alive tended to boost one's confidence). Dwalin just looked imposing.

Bilbo opened his mouth to tell one of them (all of them?) to try to look... nicer, when suddenly, just coming up from around the bend, he saw them.

In caravans and wagons and ponies the Hobbit expedition came. Hobbits mostly do not travel at all, and when they do, they do not travel lightly. Now Bilbo had a completely new reason to groan ( _was that a chair?!_ ), and he sneaked a half-embarrassed look to his side. But Kili, if possible, looked even more excited, Ori seemed intrigued, and Dwalin... continued to look scary.

And then they were there. The whole Hobbit procession came to a stop, slowly and not all at the same time. Bilbo heard a lot of yells along the lines of:

"What's going on?"  
"Mama, is this a potty break?"  
"I can't believe it, it's Mad Consort Baggins himself come to welcome us!"

At that one, Bilbo resolutely nudged his horse forward, determined not to look at his companions (especially at the wildly cackling Kili). As he neared, he slid off his horse. Around him, his companions did the same, as did the leaders of the Hobbit expedition. Bilbo nodded at Gandalf with a smile, grateful that the Wizard had kept his kin safe on the long journey. He opened his mouth to express his thanks properly-- and was nearly bowled over by his aunt, Mirabella Took.

As the youngest daughter of the Old Took, she was probably supposed to be the head of this expedition and was there to feel out possible diplomatic relations. One glance at the wide grin splitting her face, and Bilbo was comforted to know it was so much more than that. (In the past years, he had not been that close to any of his family, preferring the company of books, but he still fondly remembered traipsing around the Shire with Mirabella Took in search of Elves.)

"Our own dear Mad Royal Consort Bilbo Baggins!" she said, pulling away from him. "And this must be a new cousin?"

With bright, excited eyes she took in Kili. In return, he offered her a small bow, taking the advantage of his face being hidden to attempt to stifle his laughter. Bilbo was pretty sure the prince didn't fool her in the slightest.

Still, they moved on without incident, and the Hobbits, the Dwarves, and the Wizard were able to exchange more formal pleasantries. Inside, Bilbo was fidgeting a little; he had forgotten that when Hobbits stopped their travels, they Stopped. He could already hear murmurs from the wagons about what a wonderful place for a picnic this was. Thus, Bilbo cleared his throat to speak...

And was interrupted once again.

"Mama, are these Them?" came a little voice from inside the closest wagon.

Bilbo tried hurriedly to recall the name that voice belonged to, as a little head, crowned with copper curls, popped out.

"Yes, Primula," said Miranda. "Come and meet your new cousins." (Hobbits have difficulty grasping the concept that not all other races are as intricately related as Hobbits are; so if Kili was considered a cousin, Miranda reckoned, the other Dwarves should be too.)

And there it was, the moment of truth. Bilbo held his breath, as the tiny girl jumped down from the wagon and trotted over to them. When she reached her mother’s skirts, she stopped, looking up, up, up at the Dwarves. Primula barely reached Dwalin’s waist, although she was almost a tween.

Trying not to move overly much and thus give himself away, Bilbo nudged Ori to the front. The point of this little welcome party was to get the tiniest of his relatives acquainted with the Dwarves, and Ori was the best Dwarf to start with. He was sweet; already his face was splitting into a wide, silly grin.

Finally, Primula made up her mind. “I like him,” she said, pointing.

At Dwalin.

Bilbo and Miranda blinked. As one, their heads swung between the tiny Hobbit girl and the tall Dwarven warrior. Even Gandalf looked slightly flummoxed. Of all the things Bilbo had expected (screaming and crying, a crush on Kili, a cuddle with Ori), this was... just not it. Beside him, however, both Kili and Ori nodded sagely; both appeared to have anticipated this event.

"He was always great with me," said Ori.

"Mr. Dwalin was my hero as a Dwarveling," added Kili.

Meanwhile, Primula had trotted over to Dwalin. She reached up her arms, a silent plea to be lifted. Without hesitation, Dwalin reached down. Softly, gently, as though she was more precious than the Arkenstone itself, he raised her to lean against his chest in his strong, strong arms. Finally eye to eye, the child and the guard stared at each other, evaluating. Everything went still (even the whispers for _Food!_ from the caravan quieted).

Then, Primula broke the moment and tugged lightly at Dwalin's beard. In response, he swung her even further up, settling her on his broad shoulders. She clung to his armor and his braids, looking as though she had always belonged there and would be perfectly content to stay for ages yet. Although her tiny hands and firm grip were surely uncomfortable, Dwalin didn't move their positioning a single inch.

They stayed like this, tiny scrap of a Hobbit and gigantic Dwarf, for the rest of the journey and as the Hobbits arrived in Erebor.


	2. Exploration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to know if this is finally showing up on livejournal or not >.> But whatever, at least AO3 works!  
> A chapter in which there's more actual bb!Hobbit/Dwarf interaction, and some actual Thorin/Bilbo interaction, for those who are into that sort of thing. ;)

The Hobbits were tired after their long journey, and followed Bilbo to the guest quarters in delight. It turned out that rackety old chair the Proudfoots had strapped onto their wagon was not needed; the family of the Royal Consort was offered good food and a comfortable home away from home. Bilbo was gratified to note that the whispers of _Mad Consort Baggins_ quieted and died out as the Hobbits took in their surroundings.

All in all, the majority were ready to unpack, relax, and enjoy the splendid tea laid out for them. Of course, there was always that small, annoying group that swam upstream...

In fact, that group consisted of seven. Seven Hobbit youngsters, all looking up at Bilbo and puffing out their chests, informing him they weren't afraid. Leading them was Primula Brandybuck. She wasn't the oldest, but because of her newfound friendship with a Real Live Dwarf, the others were all in awe of her. Smart girl that she was, Primula was milking that awe for all it was worth.

Bilbo recognized the majority of the Hobbitlings standing next to her too; most of them were Took or Brandybuck kin he regularly saw at family get togethers. Next to Primula stood an older boy called Ferumbras III, who looked ready to do anything to get away from his mother. Beside him were the tiny Esmeralda Took and the tinier still Saradoc Brandybuck. The other two girls Bilbo didn't recognize, but they eagerly introduced themselves as Lobelia Bracegirlde (a very tough looking girl) and Snowdrop Noakes (looking no less tough, if a bit more reserved). In complete contrast to the two, shyly shifting from foot to foot, Bilbo recognized Hamfast Gamgee... wait, wasn't that his gardener's boy?!

Hamfast ducked his head, not quite looking Bilbo in the eye, but his voice rang out no less clear: "Please, Mr. Baggins, we want to see Dwarves!"

What could Bilbo say to that? If even the quiet Hamfast was practically begging, he couldn't exactly refuse. On the other hand, however, now that the Hobbits were settled in, he had kind of been planning to spend some, er, quality time with his soon-to-be-husband. Recently, they had had little enough time together as it was, what with the reconstruction and the wedding planning; next week, with the arrival of the Elven dignitaries, would be even more stressful.

...But the first Hobbit fact that all races of Middle-Earth learn is that huge, beseeching eyes of Hobbit children are impossible to resist.

With a regretful inner sigh, Bilbo opened his mouth to agree to show them the city-- and was interrupted by a cheerful:

"We can take care of the little ones!"

Bilbo spun around, to see five of Thorin's Company approaching. All five (Balin, Bofur, Fili, Kili, Ori) had impossibly huge grins on their faces. The Dwarves stopped right behind Bilbo, near enough that they could take a good look at the tiny newcomers (Saradoc reached up to Bofur's knee), but far enough not to loom over them completely.

It was a polite gesture on their parts, but ultimately unneeded. The little Hobbits just looked even more excited than they had five minutes ago. Primula Took waved at Kili and Ori, then whispered (perhaps a bit boastfully and definitely too loudly) to the others: "The one with no beard is Kili, but Mr. Dwalin says you're not allowed to ask where his beard went because he's a prince. The one dressed like Mama's sheeps is Ori. They're both very nice, so I think the others are very nice too."

At these descriptions, Fili and Bofur had to turn away, their shoulders shaking. Balin patted the distraught Ori on the shoulder. Meanwhile, Kili just sniffed, pretending not to have heard. He sidled over to Bilbo, accidentally tripping up his brother with an accidental kick to the back of the knees.

"Bofur's right," he said to Bilbo quietly. "It would be our pleasure to take them off your hands for a little while. And, uh, it would definitely not be a bad thing for you to, uh, pay Uncle a visit. He misses you, so he's been snapping at everyone. Being with you would relax him. Ahem."

He broke off at Bilbo's blushing glare and hard poke at his ribcage.

Bilbo considered the idea. On one hand, leaving children with Fili, Kili, and Bofur (he better not scare them with stories about dragons!) was not the best idea. On the other hand, Ori and Balin were extremely kind, and Balin at least could keep the troublemakers in check. Another plus to this idea was that Bilbo really, _really_ wanted to see Thorin. Hm. Alright.

"I'll be back in an hour," he decided. "Show them the upper levels; I'll meet you at the Meadows after, alright?"

"It shall be done, my Lord Consort," was Bofur's response to this idea.

"Only an hour?" was Fili's.

A hard poke at each of their ribcages as well, and Bilbo turned to the Hobbit children. He was glad to note they were observing the proceedings with interest, not fear. Perhaps this wasn't the worst idea ever after all.

"Alright, did you get that?" Bilbo asked them, fixing each little Hobbit in turn with an intense stare. "Stay with them and _don't_ wander off or your parents will kill me! And none of us want that, do we? I'm serious here, there are many dangerous places that the Dwarves haven't rediscovered yet. _Don't run away._ Oh, and listen to what _Balin_ says, not the others!" He rolled his eyes at the indignant yelps behind him. "Any questions?"

Timidly, Hamfast raised his hand. "Um, which one of them is Mr. Balin, Mr. Baggins?"

\--*--*--

In the end, it was actually two hours later that Bilbo was ready to rejoin the others. With him came Thorin, who had been talked into taking the rest of the day off. Bilbo had been afraid he'd have to wheedle and practically drag the king to see his young relatives, but he had been completely wrong. Thorin was overworked, not uneager. In fact, in his own Stoic Manly Warrior way, Thorin was more giddy about this meeting than his nephew had been.

"Just don't expect too much," Bilbo felt the need to warn as they stood in front of the door to the Meadows. "They're brats, the lot of them."

Thorin just smiled at him and pushed the door open.

The Meadows were a huge underground hall that had actual grass and other plants growing in it. It would soon be open to the general public as a wedding gift to their people, but for now it was a quiet place for Thorin and his Company to relax. Altogether, Bilbo and the Dwarves had spent more than a year on the road, at the mountain, and in a tight-knit group at the beginning of the restoration period, when they had still been unsure which outsiders to trust. The Meadows were a peaceful place where someone or other from the Company could find reprieve from the city's politics and just relax, a quiet place where one could fondly reminisce about the (few) good parts of their journey, a simple place where friends could meet up. Bilbo would be sad to let it go, but it would be worth it for the astonishment and delight he would get to see in Thorin's new subjects' eyes.

As they stepped into the hall, Bilbo saw that exact same astonishment and delight in the eyes of the Hobbitlings.

...And the same exact same expression was mirrored in the eyes of the five, no, six, no, eight, no, ...did he count twelve Dwarves already in the room?!

Yes, there they were, all of Thorin's Company, alternating between playing with the Hobbits and keeping them busy laughing, and exchanging grins of pure joy and excitement over the heads of the children.

Dori was the first to drift over. "Thorin," he said, as the Meadows was the one place where there was as little formal rank between any of the Dwarves as during their quest. His voice, usually heavy with gloom, was feather-light with wonder. " _There are more girls than boys!_ "

" _What?!_ " Thorin couldn't hide the shock in his voice. He surveyed the room, his eyes darting from Hobbit to Hobbit in amazed disbelief.

Bilbo was looking around the room in amazement too, although his was for a quite different reason. Was that Lobelia, Ori, Bombur... _and Bifur?!_ constructing delicate paper animals? Compared to that, the sight of Primula having a serious discussion with Dwalin about who-knows-what at least made _sense_ (in this upside down world). As did the wild chase Bilbo spied between the trees. Either Fili, Kili, and Gimli (Bilbo had miscounted the amount of Dwarves) were chasing Ferumbras and Snowdrop, or it was the other way around, but either way there was a lot of shrieking and laughter involved. Esmeralda and Saradoc were too young to join in, so they were being entertained by Balin, Bofur, and Nori's stories. Something about hidden treasure in the far-off Eastern halls, perhaps. And Hamfast... oh Hamfast. He appeared to be enjoying himself immensely, pointing out the different plants around the hall to Oin (those with medical use, Bilbo guessed). Gloin was currently sitting down (probably alongside Dori until Bilbo and Thorin had come in), just soaking in the view; the grass stains on his knees showed that he too had been an active participant recently, though.

Bilbo took all of this in, these hardened, battle-weary Dwarves, fooling around just as happily as the little children, and had to throw back his head in delight and laugh.

At this, the Hobbitlings looked up and waved at their Silly Mr. Baggins, then went back to their own amusements. All except for the smallest one: Saradoc Brandybuck. With a gleeful cry of _Mista Baggins!_ he charged over to the pair.

But along the way, he changed his mind and his course slightly, running straight to Thorin. And Thorin, as he had not done for over sixty years when his nephews had been too young to understand royal conduct, felt long-forgotten instincts take over. He caught the Hobbitling easily and lifted him up high above his head, spinning around and around until the boy was shrieking with laughter.

Thorin finally set the boy down, gently, gently, and with a final grin, Saradoc ran back to Esmeralda and the story they were being told. Thorin met Bilbo's eyes. For the first time since the day Bilbo had accepted his proposal, he laughed, loud and long and clear and with no hint of troubles. And just for that, Bilbo was willing to forgive the little Hobbits all the worry they were causing him. He laughed back.

\--*--*--

**BONUS:**

Bilbo stared at his beloved, Thorin Oakenshield, Courageous Warrior and Wise King, braiding Snowdrop's hair into intricate patterns. Thorin son of Thrain son of Thror had an absurd smile on his face and was humming a silly little tune Bilbo had never heard before.

The Hobbit shook his head in delight and disbelief.

"Me next, braid me next!" shrieked Lobelia.

"Of course," said the King under the Mountain happily and did just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who know a lot about Hobbit ancestry and such, yeah, I smudged the ages a bit (mainly because I got confused with translating Shire Reckoning to Third Age, as well as figuring out Hobbit ages vs Human ages); in the end though, the only Hobbit kid I made up was Snowdrop Noakes, because I couldn't find any family trees for working class Hobbits, but I didn't want Hamfast to be the only one, surrounded by these "gentlehobbit" kids.


	3. Invited

“Stop fidgeting,” said Dwalin to Primula, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Which, Bilbo supposed, in their world it was. Even in his own world (the _normal_ world), he had long since stopped staring at the pair. (Although he couldn’t help giggling whenever he spotted them taking their afternoon walks, Primula either perched on Dwalin’s shoulders or practically running beside him as she struggled to keep up with his long strides. Dwalin didn’t bother slowing down for the girl, and she seemed to enjoy this Being Treated Like An Adult thing.)

“But Mister Dwa-a-alin,” whined she (because the Being Treated Like An Adult thing didn’t stop her from _acting_ like a child). “It’s just so bo-o-oring.”

“Yes,” Dwalin said. “Anything to do with Elves is always boring, but we must endure it anyway.”

For that was what they were doing: standing in the royal court and waiting for the delegation of Elves to show up. Thorin stood in the middle, his heir on one side and his betrothed on the other. Stretching out on either side in a long line were the other members of Thorin’s Company, for they were honored above all others for their participation in the quest. Behind them, or to either side, one found the rest of the retainers and court, and after that any other curious passersby (both Dwarf and Hobbit). (Gandalf was currently away on Wizard Business, and had promised Bilbo he’d be back by the wedding. Bilbo interpreted this to mean _I am a coward and have no interest in helping you sort out Dwarf-Elven relationships, but I do like food so I’ll be back for that_. Perhaps this thought was a bit unkind... but it was most probably true.)

Thorin insisted that the order the Dwarves stood in was to show his favour upon the miners and toymakers who had accompanied him when others did not, and thus to humiliate the Dwarven court. Bilbo, on the other hand, was convinced it was to mock Thranduil by showing him all the escaped prisoners at once.

His hypothesis was backed by the following point: the seven Hobbit youngsters were all present, being held by various members of the company.

It had been Bofur who had come up with the idea really; at some point during the last week he had casually remarked: “How fun it would be to see Thranduil’s jealous face at the sight of our tiny Hobbits!”

Thorin had agreed, with a glee that Bilbo thought was perhaps a bit excessive. Especially because he didn’t really see why an Elven king would be that interested in the Hobbitlings anyway. They were cute, sure, but still brats.

When he mentioned this to his betrothed, though, Thorin just shook his head. “The Elves have even less children than us.” He positively cackled at that, leaving off the _And this is going to piss them off sooo badly_ that Bilbo nonetheless heard.

And thus, there they all were, amusing the young Hobbits while they waited for, as Snowdrop put it, ‘those stupid Elves’. (Bilbo was both amused and horrified at how quickly Dwarvish brainwashing took hold.)

Ferumbras piped up from where he was standing (next to Bombur and holding his hand): “Couldn’t you at least tell us a story while we wait?”

“Yes, please!” agreed Hamfast from Bifur’s shoulders.

“Couldn’t you?” that was Snowdrop from Dori’s.

There were cheers of agreement and encouragement from the other youngsters. All approved of stories, and one story in particular.

“Yeah,” said Kili, pitching his voice to sound more like a young Hobbit. “Please, Mr. Bofur, please, a story about the treasures of the Eastern Halls!”

As the Heir, Fili had to look calm and dignified, standing at Thorin’s side. Kili was taking full advantage of his own lesser position and thus standing, completely uncalm and undignified, next to Dwalin (who had to stand closer to the king and heir just in case the Elves tried something sneaky). On his hips he held Lobelia, who was playing with his hair. Thorin had recently taught her how to do an interesting looking braid (and Bilbo still couldn’t get over that but whatever), and she was practicing on every possible material that could be split into five. Kili didn’t seem to mind, moving his head a little so that she could reach it more easily while he grinned at Bofur.

In response, Bofur sighed; but it was a good-natured sigh. For whatever reason, the tiny Hobbits were obsessed with stories about forgotten treasures in the Eastern Halls. The Dwarves hadn’t had a chance to reconstruct the passages that would lead to those halls, so it was an ideal place to set stories in. And in each story that Bofur told, the amount of treasure hidden there grew. At first it had just been several piles of gold. By now however, if one believed Bofur, the Eastern Halls were full of gems as brilliant as twenty Arkenstones, and huge cauldrons of mithril, and other treasures the like of which not even Moria had contained. It was these stories that interested the children the most; Bilbo just hoped that it was due to their own Tookish Spirit and not Dwarvish Influence.

“In the far off Eastern Halls...” Bofur began.

“They’re here!” interrupted an excited Saradoc. He was sitting high on Nori’s shoulders, swinging his legs excitedly and holding on to the Dwarf’s hair. (Nori was Saradoc’s favorite, because Saradoc really enjoyed drawing the star-shaped tufts. Bilbo swore Nori made them extra big this week, just to see the boy’s excited grin and sparkling eyes.)

And indeed they were. On beautiful horses the Elven lords and ladies travelled, so different from the raggedy bunch of Hobbits who had arrived just a week ago. In the very front, the most elegant horses that Bilbo had ever seen picked their way up the path to the welcoming committee. Those of course belonged to the three most important Elves invited (however grudgingly) to the wedding: the Lady Galadriel and the Lords Elrond and Thranduil.

As they came closer, the Elves clearly took note of the Hobbitlings held or supported by Thorin’s Company. A surprised murmur rose up amongst the lesser Elves, a sound that had the Dwarves positively gloating. However, Galadriel continued looking serene (albeit with a smile on her face) and Elrond merely raised an amused eyebrow. Bilbo couldn’t see any difference in Thranduil’s bearing at all.

He whispered as much in Thorin’s ear.

“What are you talking about?” Thorin hissed back. “He’s practically weeping in despair.”

Bilbo considered the Elven king once more. Nope, still expressionless. Well, perhaps old enemies understood these things better.

“Lady Galadriel and Lord Elrond do not look bothered, though,” he pointed out.

“Oh, don’t rain on my parade, Halfling,” said Thorin, but without much bite. “It’s Thranduil in any case that I want to-- Ah, my Lords, my Lady.”

The Elves had drawn near and elegantly leapt off their horses. The two parties gave each other a short, polite bow.

“I am gladdened to see you have found joy and peace,” spoke Galadriel.

“Indeed,” added Elrond. “Hope is not yet lost if there can exist such a union.”

At that, Thorin drew himself up, probably to demand _And what’s so strange about our union?!_ or some other such nonsense, so Bilbo interrupted hastily: “Yes, well, we’re all very glad you’re here. We’ve been expecting you, you see, so we’re very pleased you could make it. Yes, yes, all very wonderful... Ahem.”

Alright, this diplomacy would take a bit of getting used to. But at least he had stopped the two parties from going at each other’s throats _immediately_ , eh? Luckily, deteriorating negotiations were further saved by another interruption:

“Can I touch the Elf lady’s hair?”

That was from Esmeralda, perched on Gloin’s hip. Bilbo blanched. He had told the Hobbitlings to be on their best behaviour, but the best behaviour of little children (and Esmeralda was little more than a toddler) was not really up to the standards of visiting royalty.

“Er, please forgive my kin,” said Bilbo hurriedly. “She, uh,...”

And then he shut up, because Galadriel, the Lady of the Woods, an ancient being with more power than Bilbo could imagine, had swept over to Gloin and leaned down to pluck the tiny girl from his arms. With as much surety as an experienced Hobbit mother, she held Esmeralda to her, letting the girl grasp at her hair. Bilbo was not the only one left gaping.

Then the girl twisted around in Galadriel’s, and informed the other Hobbitlings: “It’s alright, she’s nice too, just _big_.”

The gapes turned to --of all things!-- murmurs of disappointment and hurt from the Dwarves. _Traitor_ , Bilbo was pretty sure he heard from Bofur, and wished briefly he was close enough to elbow him. Still, the Elves didn’t seem to have heard, or at least pretended not to. For now, either was good enough for the Hobbit.

“Perhaps we should show you to your rooms now? I know you have had a long journey; we will let you rest and see you at the evening meal,” said Bilbo. It was still a little fast, but his diplomacy skills were definitely improving.

Galadriel inclined her head in approval, and Bilbo reached up to take Esmeralda from her. He passed her on to Balin, who was standing right beside him; but Balin, as the one considered most level-headed, had been elected to show the Elves to their rooms. So, after a brief check-over to make sure the Lady had cast no magic upon the Hobbitling ( _And this was the most rational Dwarf they had?_ Bilbo despaired), Balin passed her down the row to Bofur. And there the passing-the-girl-off-like-a-sack (though she seemed to enjoy it) stopped. Bofur cuddled the girl to his chest, wounded pride and jealousy streaming off of him in almost physical waves.

Bilbo stifled a sigh. This would be a long dinner.

\--*--*--

The dinner was indeed long, but it wasn’t as painful as he had feared.

The Dwarven Anti-Elf Propaganda had not lasted long in the sight of these giant, wondrous creatures. Saradoc, seated between Lord Elrond and Nori for a reason Bilbo couldn’t begin to comprehend, was firing off question after question at his taller neighbour. To his credit, Elrond was answering willingly enough, as though an Elf-lord being questioned by a tiny Hobbit child was an everyday occurrence. Still, Bilbo was unsure in what way the majority of these questions were related in the mind of anyone other than Saradoc; at least part of Elrond’s compliance must have definitely stemmed from bewilderness.

“How tall are you?”  
“Six foot two amongst my people, but I am unsure of Hobbit measuring customs.”

“Can I pat your horsie?”  
“If you promise to be careful, for both her and yourself.”

“Do you think Papa will let me get a horsie like yours?”  
“Ah... perhaps one slightly smaller..?”

Meanwhile, Nori couldn’t get Saradoc to pay any attention to him other than for food, and was therefore sulking.

In general, it was the Company, not the Dwarven courtiers, seated at the highest tables alongside the three great Elves. Bilbo again interpreted as a political version of sticking out one’s tongue at the Mirkwood Elves. Thranduil countered it by solemnly, effortlessly, helping a star-stricken Hamfast eat his mashed potatoes. In reply, Thorin glowered at him. Honestly, Bilbo sometimes wondered who the real children were.

Lobelia and Esmeralda, on the other hand, were completely obsessed with Galadriel’s hair. Seated on either side of the mighty queen, they kept pulling on the long strands. As Galadriel seemed fine with it, Bilbo decided it was wisest not to interfere.

“And Mr. King Thorin taught me how to do a bunch of different braids,” Lobelia was ramblingly but enthusiastically telling the Lady of the Woods. “Mama can only do a normal braid, but Mr. King Thorin knows lots! Yesterday he taught me a braid with five strands, and tomorrow he promised he’d teach me one that looks like a fishy.” She looked at Galadriel with a speculative glint in her eyes. Then, with Esmeralda nodding eagerly in agreement, she added generously. “You can come too. I’m sure he’ll help you with your hair too!”

At this, the Lady’s detached, peaceful countenance finally cracked. She choked a little on her cup of wine. Her wide eyes met Thorin’s stormy gaze across the table. He fought a flush of embarrassment, she fought to keep the cool she was known for.

“Perhaps... Perhaps another time, little ones,” she tried for delicate, but it came out a little more abrupt than usual. Which, for Galadriel, was saying quite a lot. Both Hobbit girls pouted, but seemed to accept defeat (for now).

In fact, the only girl who was not at all enamored with the guests was little Primula. As always, she was seated next to Dwalin. On her side of the table, the majority of the older Dwarves were clustered. Nose in the air, Primula’s whole appearance seemed to say: _These_ Guys Are Tall Enough For Me; Anyone Taller Need Not Apply. Bilbo could only be grateful she had not chosen to speak those words aloud.

Still, the most exciting and rowdy arrangement was on the opposite end of the table. There, Ferumbras and Snowdrop were entertaining a most interesting guest: a little Human boy around ten years of age. The only name he would give them was _Estel_ and he merely shrugged when they asked him why he was living with The Awful Enemy Of The Dwarves. Despite his Elvish name, Thorin’s nephews had clearly decided he was enough unlike Their Enemy to make friends with. Thus, seated across from each other as they were, they entertained the three children by juggling.

“Add another plate!” Snowdrop said.

“Right you are,” said Fili and complied. He threw a plate at Kili, who was already juggling three more plates, a fork, and two apples (courtesy of Snowdrop, who was really getting quite good at the Dwarf idea of Self-Defense For Young Hobbitlings, which mainly consisted of accurately throwing things at the attacker). The latter caught it and spun it into the madly whirling cycle of objects, all without missing a beat.

“What about a knife?” was Ferumbras’ contribution.

“Hey hey hey pipsqueak!” Kili yelled. “You trying to kill me or something?! Death by juggling, how dishonorable! No, don’t encourage him, Fili; remember I’m passing these all along to you... _now_.”

With that he suddenly tossed the plate back at his brother, followed by an apple and the rest. One by one, the objects transferred hands until it was Fili who was trying to keep up with the spinning objects and Kili who was eagerly eyeing a butter knife.

To all this, Estel didn’t say anything at all. But he grinned and grinned, at these happy, silly people so unlike the calm and dignified Elves he grew up with.

\--*--*--

“Was it that bad in the end?” Bilbo asked slyly.

“They’re... not entirely an awful bunch,” Thorin admitted unenthusiastically. “Elrond is alright, for an Elf, and he did help us. I haven’t forgotten that. If the Lady of the Woods shares closer ties to him than to Thranduil, she must be... acceptable too. And she was nice to Lobelia.”

In response, Bilbo beamed at him. For Thorin, this was practically a declaration of love. And he knew how hard it was for his beloved to say such a thing, so he pressed a small peck of appreciation onto Thorin’s cheek. Then he snuggled in closer.

The two were sitting on a bench in a square near the Hobbit quartiers. Other Hobbits milled around the square too, smoking pipes and in general lazing about; they had just finished their tea. In the middle, there stood a beautiful fountain; pure, fresh water fell in elegant waterfalls from the different levels. Sitting on its edge, their feet dangling into the water, there sat Esmeralda and Saradoc. Bofur was entertaining them with a story (not about the Eastern Halls for once, it seemed as though the older kids were more interested in such a thing than the younger ones). Next to him sat Dori, Balin, and Bombur. All three were adding their own touches to the story (realism, cleverness, and good meals, respectively). The collaborative effort seemed a bit disjointed, but, judging by the Hobbitlings’ wide eyes, was overall going well.

To Bilbo’s great surprise, he had been informed that Hamfast and Estel had last been spotted together in the Meadows, under the watchful eye of Oin. Apparently, the only thing Estel would talk about for more than five words at a time was plants and healing. So technically, it made sense that he had been forgotten, for a little while, by the more adventurous children (they were off doing who-knew-what with Ori). It thus technically also made sense that Hamfast, who was also shy and a huge connoisseur of plants, and Oin, who preferred the quiet and was an excellent healer, would all get along splendidly with him and each other. So yes, technically it all made sense. But it was still a bit difficult for Bilbo to imagine.

Ah well. At least for now he and Thorin could relax, bask in the artificial light of the park, and soak in each other’s presence. Their wedding was to be in three days, and there was still plenty of work to be done with that. Also, while the Elves were in Erebor and everyone was actually being reasonably polite, Bilbo was keen to start up some sort of formal negotiations. But all that could wait. For now, he was content to just sit there, his head on Thorin’s broad shoulders, Thorin’s arm wrapped tight around him. Near them, Esmeralda gasped in shock at some sort of plot twist. Bilbo’s eyelids drooped lower and lower...

When suddenly, a crash!

Shouts, confusion, and skidding feet.

Bilbo’s eyes popped open.

He sat up with a start, looking around for the source of the noise.

Disrupting their quiet, Ori rushed into the hall, running faster than Bilbo had ever seen him run. He collapsed on his knees in front of the two. Pounding after him were several more members of Thorin’s Company. Ori’s beard was tangled, a trickle of blood ran from a shallow cut on his temple, and his eyes were wild with terror and anguish.

“The children...” he gasped out. “Primula, Snowdrop, Lobelia, Ferumbras... they’re missing!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow, is this actual plot I spy?! =O (I just want us to have a little bit of gloom and darkness to cleanse our palate for the fluffiest fluff ever of the finale.)   
>  Anybody who correctly figures out what happened to the children gets a cookie. ;) I did leave a smattering of cluuuues...
> 
> P.S. The reason it was Gloin who was holding Esmeralda, btw, is because him being saddled with kids who are obsessed Galadriel’s hair is hilarious to me. I don’t have much of a sense of humor. xD


	4. Off-course

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Light on funny (I tried to keep it in, but Kids Going Missing isn't exactly a light topic), but still heavy on sweet?
> 
> **Warning: VERY brief mention of suicide (in a seppuku/harakiri sort of way!**

Thorin’s Company, as well as the nearest Hobbits, all crowded around Ori, yelling in confusion, fright, and anger. Miranda Took and Lalia Clayhanger, Ferumbras’ mother, were amongst those in the crowd. They looked as though they were willing to roast Ori at the stake, and the Dwarves, from Thorin and Dwalin to Ori’s own brothers, seemed ready to lead the way. Honestly, poor Ori looked wretched enough to throw _himself_ on the flames at first opportunity.

“I don’t know what happened,” he said between sobs. “I was watching them all carefully, but something hit me on the head! I blacked out, I didn’t see the attacker. It all happened so fast...”

Bilbo paled, his eyes darting from face to face as though one of the crowd would suddenly confess to the kidnapping. The shouting from the others grew louder, until Thorin held up his hands. Everyone quieted immediately.

“We will set out search parties at once,” he said in an even tone. “Whoever it was, Elf, Dwarf, or Human, they will not have gotten far. Until then, trust no one but your own kin; keep the other children close. I swear to you by Mahal’s beard and my own crown,” he looked each of the mothers directly in the eyes. “By the morn, I will have returned the young ones to you.” Then he turned to the quivering Ori. “Ori, if a hair on their head is harmed...”

“I know,” nodded Ori, his mouth a grim line in his white face. “I will throw myself from the Obsidian Tower to spare you the dishonor of executing me.”

Thorin nodded curtly in response.

Then he turned abruptly on his heel, barking out orders behind him. His Dwarves hurried after their king, splitting off into pairs or threes to gather groups that they could trust or start the search themselves. Kili was sent to check that Estel and Hamfast were still with Oin. Presently, the only ones left with Thorin were Nori and Balin. Bilbo, who was trailing the Dwarves with a very worried frown on his face, caught up with the three as Thorin pulled them into the shadows.

“Balin, you will have to make nice with the Elves,” Thorin said in a low voice. “Find out what they know, if anything. But do _not_ tell them what has befallen; not until we ascertain it wasn’t one of their party.”

“Of course,” Balin nodded and hurried off to the Elven quarters.

“Nori, the Hidden Vine,” said Thorin.

Nori gave a short bow of his head and scurried off to find his contacts in the Dwarven criminal underworld. It was with him that Thorin’s hope mainly lay, Bilbo knew, for Nori’s hands were in many pockets and on many throats. If this was a kidnapping organized by the Dwarves, they would find out within the next hour.

Now the ones left were Bilbo and Thorin. They stood in the shadows, Bilbo evaluating Thorin’s mood and Thorin staring at the ground lost in thought.

Finally Bilbo spoke: “Do you really think it is the Elves?”

“No,” answered Thorin curtly. “They would be idiotic to attempt such a thing in our own home, when we know all the hidden passages much better than they.” He hesitated, then added grudgingly. “And they would not steal away children, no matter what those childrens’ connection with Dwarves may be.”

“Then why--”

“I am not ruling out that someone _wants_ us to think it was the Elves. Many of us still harbor hatred towards them, and not all are happy that there is a peace between our kingdoms. And the truce is uncertain enough for it to be destroyed easily...” He sighed heavily and looked up at Bilbo, his voice dark with guilt. “No, it is entirely likely that your kin -- _our_ kin-- were captured to provoke some sort of reaction from me.”

Bilbo considered this, taking in Thorin’s hunched posture. Not since before Azog’s death had his beloved looked so defeated. The Hobbit longed to take him away from all this, calm him down and sit patiently for news as the other mothers did. But instead all he said was: “And... Ori?”

At this, Thorin looked away once more.

“There is nothing I can do,” he said. “Ori lost guests, _kin_ of the royal family; moreover they were _children_. If we find them before anything happens, he’ll just get a short stint washing floors. If they are hurt... his beard and hair will be shorn for the dishonor. Execution is kinder than letting a shorn Dwarf live.”

Bilbo’s mouth tightened as a shudder went through him. Poor, young, loyal-to-the-bone Ori getting executed? In what way was that supposed to help the missing Hobbit children?!

“I will not let that happen,” he said. There was a note of utter surety in his voice; Bilbo didn’t know it, but it was that firmness that had convinced the Dwarven nobility that he would make a fine consort after all. Thorin merely sighed softly in response.

Bilbo stepped forward, lifting his arms to cradle his beloved’s head and pull him gently to rest on the Hobbit’s much smaller shoulders. They stayed like this for a little while, Thorin hunched over in a way that should have been uncomfortable but instead felt _right_ , with Bilbo’s face buried in his hair, both just breathing in their lover and trying to calm their thundering hearts. Finally, Bilbo pulled away.

“We will find them, Thorin Oakenshield.”

\--*--*--

It had been four hours and the children had not yet been found.

So far the only good news was that Hamfast and Estel had stayed safe. The three Hobbit children, as well as the Human boy, were bundled up with their respective folk (or rather, Estel was with the Elves, Esmeralda and Saradoc were with their parents, and Hamfast, whose parents couldn’t just drop their work back in the Shire, was last spotted wandering around the Hobbit quarters; there were several guards posted there so Bilbo wasn’t too worried about him). Outside the mountain, sundown was rapidly approaching, but inside, the Dwarf-made illumination would let the search parties continue just as surely in the dark. Bilbo was arguing with the four Hobbit mothers, who had no desire to sit uselessly while their children were gone.

“We cannot send out search parties after you too,” explained Bilbo gently. “The Dwarven tunnels are dangerous; only the most experienced can find their way around.”

Shouting and scowls followed.

“Besides, if one or all of the children manage to escape, they will want their mother here,” continued Bilbo, with a reasonableness he did not feel.

This quieted them down; they exchanged looks laden with frustration and almost crazed with helplessness. Finally, Miranda Took spoke.

“We will take your advice, Bilbo,” she said, each word slow and deliberate. “And we will follow the plan of your intended. But mark these words, if the children are not here by sunrise, we will take this city apart, stone by stone, with our bare hands.”

In her eyes, Bilbo saw the same madness seen in all parents worried for their young, from the smallest fox to the most detached Elf. He gave her a short bow and a murmured “Understood.”

With that, he hurried away from the mothers, intent on reaching Thorin and re-doubling the search parties. So far, Nori had found absolutely nothing from his connections, no matter how many hands greased or how many necks threatened. If no more information was found within an hour, the Elves would be alerted. It was almost time to change the operation from a covert mission to a complete declaration of war against anyone found the slightest bit suspicious.

It was these dark thoughts that Bilbo was lost in, letting his feet take him back to the main planning room without consulting his brain. The searching Dwarves were to report back there every hour and a half with news; Bilbo just hoped there would _be_ news this time. He had not gone far, however, before he almost tripped over Thorin.

To be fair to Bilbo, the Dwarven king was kneeling on the ground and paying as little attention to passersby as Bilbo had been to his feet. He was eye-to-eye with Hamfast. The boy looked nervous, but also very determined, his chin sticking out stubbornly. When he saw Bilbo, however, the resoluteness faded from his eyes and he launched himself at his father’s old boss.

As he had done many times before, Bilbo caught him in his arms easily. He settled down on the cold floor of the hallway, opposite Thorin, Hamfast in his lap. The Dwarf king changed position to settle down cross-legged as well. The two adults exchanged glances over the Hobbitling’s head, as Hamfast made himself comfortable in Bilbo’s lap, head buried into the older Hobbit’s shirt. Only then did Thorin speak.

“Little Hamfast here was telling me he knows something about the disappearance,” he said carefully.

At this, Bilbo gasped in shock. He had thought Thorin was comforting the Hobbitling, not getting information. “But... what?!”

“They are not snatched away,” Hamfast said into Bilbo’s shirt, his eyes screwed tight. “They are exploring and got lost.”

What?!

To this, neither Bilbo nor Thorin knew immediately what to say. This situation was... was not any of the dreadful and horrible things Bilbo had been imagining for the last four hours. Across from him, Thorin let his head drop into his hands; a long sigh of pure relief escaped him. Lost Hobbitlings were still a gigantic worry, but it wasn’t a worry of _war_. But still... what?!

“Why did you not mention this before?” said Thorin slowly, his head still in his hands.

“I did!” Hamfast squeaked indignantly. Then his voice quieted. “But... They are gentlehobbits, Your Majesty, and I’m just a kid. Neither my Ma or my Da came along, so I’m to rely on the Tooks and the Brandybucks. But they would not listen to me.” Hamfast muttered, ears red. Once again, Bilbo’s arms tightened around the child, one who should be far too young to think about such things.

Now Thorin did look up, glaring at his lover as though he was to be blamed for all the foolishness of Halflings. Bilbo just glared right back, equally upset at his family but unwilling to curse them out when he held a bundle of frightened child in his lap.

“I didn’t know what to do, and I didn’t want to get in trouble,” said Hamfast, sniffling. “I didn’t want _them_ to get in trouble. But... right now Mr. Ori’s getting blamed for it, and it wasn’t his fault at all!” He started to cry in earnest.

Bilbo pressed the boy close to him. Poor little Hamfast was shaking, and Bilbo rubbed soothing circles into his back. He murmured little nothings into the boy’s hair, about how brave he was being and how they’d get his friends back soon and how nobody was going to get into trouble at all. Thorin reached over to tangle his large hand into Hamfast’s curls, stroking his hair softly. The Hobbitling flinched, then relaxed, soothed by the heavy warmth. Finally, Hamfast’s sobs quieted back down to little sniffles.

When he decided the boy was as calm as he could get, Thorin ordered gently: “Please look at me, Hamfast.”

Hamfast turned in Bilbo’s lap, so that his back was still pressed to the older Hobbit’s chest, but he could now stare up at Thorin with his large (still tear-filled) eyes.

“You’ve been very brave,” said Thorin. “But you must continue being brave and answer some questions. Do you know at all where they could have went?”

Hamfast answer was immediate: “The Eastern Halls.”

At this, Bilbo groaned. Of course. That was what you got when you mixed Tooks and Dwarves. What else should he have expected? Thorin, however, still looked confused.

“Why would they go there?” he said.

“To get the legendary treasures Mr. Bofur talked about,” said Hamfast, as though it was the most natural idea in the world.

“But why were they looking there at all?” Thorin was even more bewildered. “Is there not enough gold to play with here?”

“It was supposed to be a surprise wedding present for you and Mr. Baggins,” answered Hamfast quietly. “But mostly you, Your Majesty. Primula made Lobelia and Snowdrop feel bad because they were paying so much attention to Your Awful Enemy, the Elves. Mr. Dwalin doesn’t like them, and Primula really likes Mr. Dwalin, so she decided we shouldn’t like what Dwarves don’t like. They all went together to find something nice for you, to make it up to you for hanging around with Elves. Oh, but not Ferumbras. He just likes adventuring.”

Now it was Bilbo’s turn to glare at Thorin for his family’s sins. Thorin’s in-laws didn’t listen to smart children because they were of a lower class, Bilbo’s in-laws didn’t hesitate in passing down irrational hatred to impressionable minds. This sure was a well-fitting marriage!

Thorin looked away, not able to meet Bilbo’s hot gaze. A flush of shame appeared on his cheeks: he had not exactly discouraged the idea that Elves were Dwarven Enemy Number One.

“What about Ori, though?” Thorin asked, mainly to lead the conversation away from the Hobbitlings’ reasoning, now that he knew what it was. “He was knocked out!”

“Oh, that must have been Snowdrop,” said Hamfast. “Mr. Kili and Mr. Fili have been teaching her how to throw stones.”

Dwarvish Self-Defense For Young Hobbitlings, Bilbo remembered. Ori could never have seen it coming; no wonder he had seemed so shocked. Little girls don’t generally possess the killing intent that a seasoned warrior would sense from a kidnapper (and Ori, after their quest, was definitely a seasoned warrior, no matter how much the others teasingly denied it). The attack would have come completely out of nowhere...

Bilbo was irrationally angry. No, he was _rationally_ angry. Tiny, awful _brats_ were invading his home, upsetting his friends, scaring his betrothed, and, most importantly, severely elevating his blood pressure! Oh, when he got through with them...

Abruptly, he made to stand up, forgetting about Hamfast until the last second. He quickly grabbed the little Hobbit and steadied him, then looked down at the cringing Thorin (well, as cringing as Brave Warrior Kings got). Thorin had obviously recognized that look on him. It was the same look Bilbo wore when he killed Wargs. It was a look that promised murder.

“We are going to find them, Thorin Oakenshield.”

\--*--*--

Bilbo looked around the meeting room, taking in the wearied and saddened Dwarves. Bombur looked ready to cry, Nori had bloodied fingernails and hollow eyes from the physical and mental threats he had doled out. Dwalin appeared to be out of his mind with worry and Ori was not far behind, guilt equally heavy in his eyes. Both were almost vibrating with the desire to continue the search. The others were disheartened; Bilbo was sure that by dawn they would reach the same state as Dwalin and Ori.

With curt, snapped words, Bilbo told them Hamfast’s confession.

Dwalin and Ori took off before the last sentence was finished. For once, Ori’s shorter legs had no problem keeping up with the well-trained warrior; both pairs of eyes were fixed East and Dwarves, benches, and trash cans were bowled over along the way.

With a quick _Tell the mothers, Thorin!_ over his shoulder, Bilbo sped off after them. He was uncertain that Ferumbras and the girls would recognize the Dwarves, crazed with worry as they were. Also, he wanted to yell at the children as soon as possible.

Although both Dwalin and Ori were taller and more well-trained than him, Bilbo had little trouble catching up. He had spent a year running after the others in the Company, and besides, the two cleared a path for him. All three knew exactly where to go: Bofur had often pointed out to the Hobbitlings the little tunnel pathway that was supposed to take one to the Eastern Halls. They had just not bothered searching there before because there was little to entice a kidnapper to go that way: there was only one path and it led to not yet rediscovered areas; getting away would be impossible.

And so, within three quarters of an hour, long after their mad sprint had slowed to a long-distance run, they heard them.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t go back?” came Snowdrop’s high-pitched voice, echoing down the tunnel.

“I’m fine,” came a pain-filled reply from Primula, her breath hitching. “I told you already. If we go back now, without _anything_ , they’re going to be sooo mad.”

At that pain-filled voice, Dwalin and Ori sped up, Bilbo hot on their heels. He swore the other two were pretty much frothing at the mouth. They were running, running, running, headlong and blind, so that they -- wait -- stop -- the three skidded and tripped and _stopped_ as the Hobbit children came into view.

A sorry sight they were too. Lobelia’s braids were messed up and her skirt was ripped. Bruises could be spotted on Ferumbras’ knees; Snowdrop was covered head to toe with dust. Worst of all was Primula: she cradled her wrist to herself awkwardly and her face was white and pinched with pain.

The two groups, children (frightened at the suddenness) and adults (panting in exertion), stared at each other. Despair and guilt rapidly faded from the eyes of the Dwarves and concern trickled in instead. Ori especially looked ready to weep in relief. Well, Bilbo couldn’t have that. With sheer force of will, he recovered from the run before his companions did.

And as soon as he had enough air in him, he bellowed: “ _WHAT WERE YOU THINKING YOU IDIOTIC HOBBITS?!_ ”

Ferumbras and Lobelia took a whole step back, frightened. This was not the Nice Mr. Baggins who they knew from birthday parties. That Mr. Baggins was a kind, if sometimes high-strung, Hobbit; they had heard the stories of him outwitting dragons and killing wargs, but they had dismissed them as tall tales. This... This angry creature, staring at them with mad eyes, this was someone they could very well imagine slaying dragons and destroying whole cities. Between him and the almost-frothing Dwarves, they would take the Dwarves.

But Snowdrop and Primula were made of sterner stuff. They exchanged glances.

“Stupid Hamfast must have told,” whispered Snowdrop.

“That coward,” agreed Primula. “If he was too scared to come along, he should have at least kept his mouth _shut_!”

Oh _no way_ , Bilbo was _not_ going to be ignored by these little brats. And he wasn’t going to let them go around blaming poor Hamfast for being the only one in their group with an ounce of reason. Not on his watch.

“YOU COULD HAVE BEEN _HURT_!” He rounded on them, resisting the very strong urge to shake the idiots. “Did you not _think_? There’s a _reason_ I told you not to wander around! There’s a lot of very bad people out there, who would hurt you without hesitation, just to get to Thorin and me.” Snowdrop and Lobelia paled at this, but Bilbo found he couldn’t stop. “And that’s just the _people_! There are also mine shafts, and rivers, and poisonous plants! None of _them_ would hesitate to hurt a little Hobbitling either; you can’t be cute at a scorpion and hope it won’t sting you! As for...”

“But Mr. Baggins-- we--” the two Hobbit girls interrupted together.

“ _No ‘buts’_!” Bibl would not be denied. “Why didn’t you think about _Ori_?! Your childish fancies got him into _so much trouble_. Because of you, he was nearly _torn limb from limb_!”

And maybe that was an exaggeration, but then again, remembering Dwalin’s eyes, maybe it wasn’t. In any case, it had the desired effect. Snowdrop broke into tears, Primula whimpered at the thought and glanced up at Ori. Her eyelashes were wet with tears.

“But Mr. Baggins,” she whispered. “We had to.”

And suddenly Bilbo paused. He looked at their faces, really _looked_. Determination shone from each of them, and it shone most brightly from Primula, despite her pain and fear. This was not a child going off on a reckless adventure, with no concern for whoever else got hurt on the way. No, this was a girl who, with her own childish logic, was trying to do what was Right and Necessary. She was convinced that the Dwarves had been hurt by her friends’ rejection, and to be honest, she was probably correct about that. It was only her methods of apologizing for that hurt that were wrong, not the logic.

Just like that, all the anger Bilbo felt towards the Hobbitlings evaporated. He knelt down and opened his arms, letting the children rush into them. Giving them each a kiss on the top of their heads, he murmured: “Alright, alright, I’m sorry for yelling. I am, really. You should have told someone, you should have _said_ , even if you wanted it to be a surprise for Thorin and me. But I’m sorry for yelling anyway.”

Another tight squeeze and he stood up, turning away from the Hobbits so they couldn’t see his face. But the Dwarves could, oh they could. Perhaps Bilbo’s anger towards the _Hobbitlings_ was gone, but his general anger? Anger that strong couldn't disappear without a trace, anger that strong could only be redirected. And it was.

“Mr. Dwalin,” he hissed, because Ori already looked almost as scared as the Hobbitlings anyway. “You do realize this is _all your fault_?”

Dwalin shuffled his feet and muttered something that could, with a bit of deciphering, be taken as an affirmative.

But Bilbo wasn’t done yet.

“That’s _it_ , until the Hobbits leave there will be _zero_ insulting of the Elves. Pass this on to the others too. You will make peace with _them_ or you will make peace with sleeping in the dungeons. _Without_ any Hobbitlings to keep you company.”

Dwalin flushed, opening his mouth to protest--

“Oh, and as punishment for causing the children to go on this mad traipse, you and Primula will be going on a playdate with Lord Elrond and Estel. I’m sure you and Lord Elrond will have a lot to talk about while the children entertain themselves.”

\--Dwalin closed his mouth.

“ _Do I make myself clear?_ ”

The warrior gulped. He looked down. He reshuffled his feet. Then he looked straight into Bilbo’s eyes, eyes that bore the same fiery determination as those of the one he had sworn to follow. It didn’t hurt that they bore the gleam of Very Pissed Off Hobbit too.

“Perfectly clear, my Lord Consort.”

\--*--*--

Getting back home was honestly a hassle, what with Primula’s hurt arm and all. And the children wouldn't stop apologizing to Ori, which Bilbo approved of strongly, but still got a little repetitive anyway. There was also a lot more yelling from the Hobbit mothers that had to be endured by the Hobbitlings. But it wasn’t anywhere near as bad as what they had gotten from Bilbo, so _that_ was alright.

Anyway, all’s well that ends well, as long as somebody learns a lesson, as the Hobbits say. In this case, it was a very important lesson that they learned, both Hobbit children and Dwarves. The lesson was this:

Bilbo Baggins Is To Be Obeyed In Everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cookies go to thebittersweetheart, who guessed correctly! =D   
> So yeah, this chapter is mainly here because... while we may laugh at the Dwarves' obsession with the mini-Hobbits, there would be reprecussions to it too I guess.


	5. Unquenchable, united

And then suddenly, finally, it was the day of the wedding.

Bilbo had nearly forgotten about it, what with the fact that Elvish-Dwarf negotiations had quite spontaneously improved. (On the first day Thorin had greeted her courteously, without a not-very-well-hidden frown, Galadriel had practically grinned at Bilbo; Elrond and Thranduil had looked as confused as Elf Lords could get when the other Dwarves followed their leader’s politeness. Bilbo had just smiled serenely at them all, Elf and Dwarf. The Dwarves had shuddered in response.) In fact, the only reason he _did_ remember it was his wedding day was because he suddenly heard a voice say:

“I always did have faith that you could do it.”

Bilbo looked up from where he had been eating a very early First Breakfast, spoon still in his hand. Then he continued looking up, because he was sitting down and the owner of that voice was Gandalf. Yup, it was Gandalf, back from Wizard Business, conveniently enough _after_ the whole Missing Hobbits Almost Causing A Dwarf Vs Elf Or Maybe Dwarf Vs Dwarf War Fiasco had been settled. And honestly, Bilbo still wasn’t particularly happy at the Wizard about that.

He went back to eating his porridge.

“Bilbo,” said Gandalf, just a tiny bit threateningly. “Do stop sulking. Surely you do not expect a Wizard to stop his Business because of petty childish mischiefs?”

Bilbo (who considered the bleakness in Ori’s eyes, the madness in the adults’ gazes, and you know, the whole actual _threat of war_ , a couple levels above ‘petty’) just harrumphed in reply. It was a harrumph that said a lot, namely, You’re Going To Have To Raise It Up A Notch For Me To Feel Threatened And I Know You Won’t Do That Because Unlike Many You Do Actually Admit When You Miscalculated. Then he took another spoonful of porridge.

Wizards, especially meddling ones like Gandalf, are very good at interpreting things most people wouldn’t understand. Thus, Gandalf looked away, the unfamiliar emotion of sheepishness flitting across his face. “Yes, well. I suppose I could have hurried back a little sooner.”

Bilbo’s porridge was really quite excellent. He liked what Bombur had done with it; it had little sprinkles of cinnamon on it, which was very Hobbit-like, but used more milk than common in the Shire and was thus also very Dwarvish. Perhaps they should serve porridge at the wedding.

“And don’t fret, I will entertain the Hobbitlings while you set up the festivities.”

Bilbo looked up at the Wizard and smiled. “Welcome back, Gandalf.”

\--*--*--

Thorin and Bilbo had decided that the wedding was to show a unity of their people, and thus would combine the best parts of each folk’s traditions. Both Hobbit and Dwarf weddings mainly consisted of feasting and celebration. Hobbits started celebrating (and eating) with an early lunch and continued until around midnight, consuming insane amounts of food meanwhile; Dwarves started at dinner and continued celebrating (and drinking) until the small hours of the morn, when the married couple greeted the sun together for the first time. Both Peoples agreed that the best way to resolve these differences was to party for practically twenty hours straight.

So they did.

As with all the best parties, Bilbo later recalled his wedding day (and night) in bright, exciting snatches; the rest was a blur of beaming faces, good food and drink, and singing (sometimes beautiful, sometimes very loudly off-key).

\--*--*--

“How tall are you?”  
“I am 5 foot eleven, going by Hobbit measurements.”

“Can you make fireworks with your stick?”  
“No, I do not use my staff to create fireworks...”

“Do you think Papa will let me get a sword like yours?”  
“Most definitely not!”

Maybe Bilbo should have rescued Gandalf from Saradoc’s inane questioning. But he didn’t.

\--*--*--

Bilbo’s breath hitched at his first sight of Thorin, seated at the head of the long feasting table. For their wedding, Hobbits weave a crown of flowers into their beloved’s hair. But his relatives had taken one look at his rough, scarred fingers (so used to holding a sword or a hammer nowadays instead of a teacup or a needle), and decided they’d rather do it themselves before Bilbo embarrass their whole folk.

So there sat Thorin, splendid and fine in his royal blue robes. His beautiful, delicate crown, weaved out of pale primroses, delicate star-shaped cypress, and clusters of paperwhite, was set with lush red roses, more vibrant than any ruby. Thorin looked every inch a Wise King From The Days Of Old-- and no matter how much Bilbo usually teased him for his seriousness, in moments like this the Hobbit just couldn’t breathe at the sight of him.

He himself felt plain and undignified; he was about ready to run back to the Shire, sure that Thorin would call the whole thing off as soon as he saw him and wouldn’t that just be awful for everyone--

His gaze met Thorin’s. And in Thorin’s eyes, he recognized the same awestruck wonder that was mirrored in his own: a wonder that this glorious, amazing person had chosen _him_ to share his future with.

Bilbo blushed to the very roots of his hair, curls that had shining, sparkling Dwarvish silver braided into them. Then he walked across the hall and slid into his seat, right next to Thorin.

\--*--*--

Bilbo was full and happy, and perhaps a little bit tipsy. He looked around the hall, content for now to merely observe his friends and family.

There was Dwalin, having a polite conversation with Elrond about which weapons could best be used to hunt Orcs. (Bilbo congratulated himself on a job well done.) And there was Gimli, who had found a Dwarvish board game somewhere, and was eagerly explaining the rules to Estel, Snowdrop, and Ferumbras. (Something about figuring out who a murderer was, and whether somebody had been killed in a cellar, throne room, feasting hall, weaponry, treasury, kitchen, library, or mine shaft.) And there, not completely visible from the hallway, Lobelia and Primula played with Lord Thranduil’s moose.

…Wait. One of those things didn’t fit.

_Moose?!_

Bilbo did a double take. He blinked. He hoped very, very hard that he was just drunk.

But the vision didn’t fade.

The Hobbit stood up so fast his chair fell over. Ignoring Thorin, Bofur, and Balin’s drunken and confused questioning, he sprinted out of the main feasting hall to where Lobelia and Primula were--

_Was that a saddle? Had they seriously converted The Great And Powerful King Thranduil’s steed into a children’s riding pony he was going to have to kill them all after all--_

“Is something the matter, Master Baggins?” said a calm, dignified voice.

Bilbo’s bare feet skidded to dead rest at that voice. He turned towards it. There, looking at him with ancient, otherworldly eyes, stood Thranduil. The Elf cocked his head at the Hobbit’s panting bewilderment. Bilbo honestly had no idea how to read the expression on his face. A mild confusion, perhaps? Not rage, at least. Bilbo would take what he could get.

“The children, my Lord,” blurted out Bilbo, before that expression could change. “They appear to have, uh, commandeered your, uh, steed; I’m so sorry about that, let me just get them down...”

“There is no need.”

“...Pardon?”

“Why should the children not enjoy themselves?” said Thranduil. He waved his arm elegantly in the direction of the Hobbitlings, who were helping each other clamber onto the moose in the same way hikers help each other climb up a particularly difficult stretch of mountain. “It is not every day they see such creatures.” He hesitated a moment, then added. “And it is not everyday we Elves see beings so very young. It... is good like this.”

That was probably the closest Bilbo would ever get to sharing a moment of understanding with this ancient king. He nodded his head in a short bow, which Thranduil acknowledged with his own. Then the Elf glided over to the Hobbitlings, easily lifting both of them to sit atop his steed. Bilbo left them to it.

As he re-entered the hall, determined to spend some time with people he actually understood well (in this particular case, his family, who were amazing all the other Peoples with their eating skills), the Hobbit didn’t see that Thorin and Balin had both run after him; thus he also missed their plotting whispers.

\--*--*--

“What about if you were inside a needle in an egg in a duck in a rabbit in an iron chest buried under an oak tree on an island in the ocean? Would the Eagles still be able to find you then?”

“Saradoc Brandybuck, that is completely impossible and highly illogical. But yes, they would.”

Bilbo finally took pity on the Wizard. He called over Hamfast, who had been quietly playing with a toy dragon (courtesy of Bifur) near a calmly smoking Dori, and told him that Gandalf was thinking about which flowers his next fireworks should imitate.

Within seconds, the bored Saradoc had wandered off. As far as Bilbo could tell, both Hamfast and Gandalf were enjoying themselves immensely, arguing which flower would be the most difficult to produce with sparks and smoke and magic.

\--*--*--

The eating contest was announced to the great amusement and pleasure of the guests. If there’s one thing people of all kinds enjoy almost as much as stuffing their own faces, it’s watching somebody else stuff theirs.

It was decided that to keep the amount of food lost to this competition to a minimum, each group of folk would elect one person to represent them. Bombur, of course, was unanimously selected by the Dwarves. An Elf whose name Bilbo didn’t know, but who looked green at the amount of food in front of him, was pushed forward by the Elves. As the Humans from Dale were to come by only in the evening, Estel bravely decided to step forward for the Humans, to the cheering and clapping of the other children (and _aww_ ing from the adults). Finally, with a snort that would allow no contradictions or protests, Lalia Clayhanger (Ferumbras’ mother) sat down at the table.

A final round of bets, and the eating began.

And went on.

And on.

And on.

Estel fell away first, but nobody blamed him for that because he really was tiny. Besides, the Elf followed after quite quickly. And then it was down to two.

While they ate, Gandalf invented a whole new type of firework, Bofur told the waiting Hobbitlings a whole new story (one that had nothing to do with any treasures or halls at all), and Balin, Miranda Took, and an Elf who said he was called Glorfindel created a whole new jig that combined elements from each of their People's traditional wedding dances.

Then Bombur finally stopped eating, his last bite of chicken just plain not fitting inside his stomach anymore.

Lalia happily finished her own chicken and moved on to the steak pie. And the standing of the Hobbits rose once more in the eyes of the other Peoples of the world.

\--*--*--

Bilbo finally managed to snag his beloved and pull him into the shadows. He was intent on stealing a kiss, as long and passionate as he could make it, before the guests found the two and pulled them apart. But just as his fingers carefully threaded themselves through Thorin’s hair--

“Excuse me,” said Snowdrop, looking up at them with a raised eyebrow. “But no.”

The Hobbits had been informed that at Dwarvish weddings, tradition dictated that the couple could only engage in acts less chaste than holding hands if they managed to keep them unseen. This was not part of the traditions of the Shire-folk, but they took an immense, slightly evil pleasure in separating the two lovers anyway. The children in particular looked at this all as some sort of hilarious game of Hide And Seek.

Thorin chuckled and ruffled Snowdrop’s hair, giving Bilbo an only slightly disappointed look above the girl’s head. Bilbo’s blood pressure rose.

\--*--*--

Fili and Kili’s juggling tricks had been highly successful amongst the Hobbit children. So successful, in fact, that Esmeralda and Saradoc were clamoring to have it shown to them too, as last time they had been busy with other things.

With a sigh that should have been annoyed, but instead just sounded absurdly pleased, Kili picked up the nearest household objects. This time, the display was even grander than before, as the two had more space next to the tables. Saradoc and Esmeralda stared, enchanted, until...

A flash of blond hair, and Esmeralda’s interest was suddenly fixed on something else. Some _body_ else in fact. If Bilbo remembered correctly, this politely staring Elf was supposed to be Prince Legolas, Thranduil’s son.

Now this just couldn’t be tolerated by Fili and Kili. For fear of Bilbo and for the children’s sake, they had toned down their overt jealousy and dislike of the Elves getting more of the children’s attention. But to have a glorious trick ignored just to goggle at an Elf _who wasn’t even doing anything?!_ Nope, that just wouldn’t stand.

“Hey you, _catch!_ ” shouted Kili, and threw one of the forks he was juggling at Legolas.

...Who caught it with only a slight fumble. Fili, who had immediately understood what his brother was up to, tossed the Elf another two pots. He caught those too, and sent back the fork with deadly accuracy.

And then the game was on.

(It ended when Ferumbras, who had been playing tag with Hamfast and Estel, crashed into one of Legolas’ legs and sent him off-balance. The adults, Dwarves and Elf, had quickly bonded together to run around, catching all the plates, pots, apples, pears, forks, and knives before they could squish and pierce the children. With that, a truce, and perhaps even tentative friendship, was formed.)

\--*--*--

After the supper feast (which was actually pretty much a continuation of the lunch feast), Bilbo finally found out what Thorin and Balin had been plotting about.

It was...

...pause for dramatic effect, as Balin had...

...a slide.

Yes, the Dwarven King and his Wisest Advisor had gotten jealous of how popular Thranduil’s moose was with the Hobbitlings. And so they had decided to get together with Dori and Bifur to create a slide for them. But not just any slide, oh no. This is the Dwarven King we’re talking about after all. The slide Thorin created and his people built would have to be amazing enough to make the children forget that such a creature as the moose had ever existed. It would have to be thrilling and entertaining and make people giddy with excitement after just a glimpse of it. In short, it would have to be so spectacular no words could describe it properly.

And it was.

But here’s a brief try anyway: There were loops and spirals and sharp steep turns and long plummets that were scary but not really because the children knew the Dwarves would never ever hurt them. And it was made almost entirely out of rubies and sapphires and gold. (According to Dori’s explanations, this was because precious metals were quicker to work. According to Bilbo’s logic, this was because Dwarves like to show off.)

\--*--*--

It was an old Hobbit tradition that one of the lovers was to throw a bouquet into the crowd, and whoever caught it was to be married next. The majority of the Dwarves were all suitably impressed and intrigued by this style of Hobbit prophecy. Thorin was amongst those fascinated; that’s why Bilbo, who cared little about it, ‘generously’ allowed him to have the honor of throwing it.

Only he had forgotten to remind Thorin that the usual person who threw the flowers was a sweet lass or nice lad, not a heavily muscled, well-trained warrior.

The bouquet sailed far, far over the heads of the eagerly waiting Hobbits and Dwarves (and even quite a few Elves). It landed on the other side of the room, in the lap of one little boy who was just waking up from a peaceful nap.

Estel opened his eyes and found a few dozen furious and disappointed adults staring at him.

He ran.

\--*--*--

In the last few hours before the dawn, all the guests and the hosts moved as one towards the Meadows. Those ancient halls were finally opened for the general public, and it seemed as though half the Dwarves in Erebor had decided to explore immediately. Those that didn’t, carried on the party in the streets.

Bilbo never knew if it was because the alcohol was wearing off or if the Meadows were just imbued with some quiet type of magic, but the moments in those halls were ones he forever remembered best.

There, he saw Dwalin lifting up Primula to reach the upper branches of a tree, the two smiling at each other as she plucked some apples for him...

He saw Bifur, Oin, and Balin smoking and talking peacefully with Elrond, swapping stories of days gone by...

He saw Ferumbras chasing after magical butterflies that Gandalf created out of smoke, and Fili and Kili joining in with the same delight...

He saw Hamfast beam with pride as Dori and Gloin complimented Mr. Gandalf’s new fireworks...

He saw Nori explain some card tricks to Miranda Took, and he saw Bombur and Lalia Clayhanger exchange recipes...

He saw Snowdrop tug Ori over to Thranduil, and when the Dwarf stammered and blushed and asked if he could please, please have a turn on The Glorious Moose, the Elven King agreed easily and without a single moment of hesitation...

He saw Bofur listen patiently as Saradoc used all the interesting facts Mr. Elrond and Mr. Gandalf had taught him to weave a story that was almost as good as Bofur’s own...

He saw Estel and Gimli, each rushing off to join their respective friends, crash into Thranduil’s son, Legolas, and land in a heap, laughing at each other’s clumsiness (and he saw Elrond’s eyes darken and glaze briefly as the Elf watched a different laughter at a different present but with the same friendship in a prophecy that was far more true than Hobbits' flower throwing)...

And perhaps most memorably of all, he saw Thorin, aided and advised by Lobelia and Esmeralda, braid Galadriel’s long tresses into beautiful, elegant, Dwarven plaits.

All too soon (for breaking those magical moments would always come too soon), whispers of sunrise started up. So Bilbo took Thorin’s hand and the two went together, alone except for each other, to face their first morn as husbands. Because for Dwarves, there is no need to say any declarations of love or of commitment on the wedding day. Seeing the sun’s rays from beyond the mountains, holding each other tightly and finally going for that kiss without any brats interrupting... that was enough.

And Bilbo felt at peace.

\--*--*--

But as he snuggled up in bed next to Thorin, he remembered something: the Hobbits were to be leaving in several days. Despite all the trouble the Hobbitlings had caused him, Bilbo felt lead settling in his stomach. Just several days and they would be gone, and Bilbo would have to go to back to seeing an unsmiling Dwalin, and a Bifur who pounded harsh metal instead of folding delicate paper swans, and a Nori with smaller hair and harder eyes, and all the rest of them sad and determined and nothing like these silly, happy people he had just recently come to know.

And worst of all, a Thorin whose burden of leadership was slowly but surely wearing him down, lessening his smiles and deepening the furrows of concentration on his brow. They had reclaimed Erebor, but there was still so much to do before they all could relax and truly say they were keeping it.

 _Dwarves belong in Erebor and Hobbits belong in the Shire_ , Miranda Took had told him, while packing up some of Primula’s toys. There was nothing to it, they would just have to face the long years of reconstruction ahead of them head on, and wait for everything to settle down.

On the other hand... Miranda’s eyes had twinkled as she spoke; she had even winked at him. Perhaps... perhaps this could be not a _farewell_ but merely a _see you later_? They could establish trade routes (he had the power to do this now, Bilbo realized with a heady rush) and continue having guests and parties and playdates.

And now the near future didn’t seem so bleak after all. Next Autumn perhaps, when Thranduil had promised to come discuss the harvest agreements; yes, that would be a perfect time for some Hobbitlings to ‘accidentally’ come visit.

And just like that, Bilbo wasn’t worried about anything at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last 'real' chapter of this fanfic (because I ran out of vowels to start the chapter titles with =P); "Chapter 6: After" will be an Epilogue.
> 
> Thank you for reading so far everyone, but tune in tomorrow for the complete ending!
> 
>  
> 
> P.S. The game Gimli was showing the others was, of course, a bastardized version of Clue(do). Because I'm a dork, I made up the rest of it too, for anybody who happens to be interested:  
> the weapons are dagger, walking stick, wrench, hammer, rope, or arrows  
> the people are Scholar Amethyst, Madame Aquamarine, Smith Emerald, Lady Mithril, Warrior Citrine, and Master Ruby (male in their version because Dwarves do not have that many women).  
> I didn't really know where to include this stuff that I put so much effort into... so you get it here. Yup.  
> P.P.S. Thorin's crown was completely inspired by this website: http://chicvintagebrides.com/index.php/bridal-wear/whimsical-wonderful-floral-headresses/ Pick whichever one you think looks best on our Brave Warrior King. xD


	6. After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another little bit of timeline shuffling in this chapter ehehe...

There were a lot of things that worried Bilbo. They were the usual things a happily-married-for-twenty-five-years Hobbit would worry about: whether his relationship with his husband would remain as good as it has been so far, whether his nephews would ever start taking the family business a little more seriously, whether the latest peace treaties with the Elves would work out...

Alright, Bilbo had a few more worries than the average Hobbit husband.

And at the moment, the chief of these worries was the letter he was holding in his hand.

It was a very short letter, and very to the point.

_To Royal Consort Bilbo Baggins,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. Unfortunately, it brings grave tidings. This Summer, Drogo and Primula Baggins both passed away. You have been voted as the most dependable relative of their son, Frodo. Thus, we send him to you with several Rangers; they are accompanying a pipeweed caravan to Erebor. Please expect them within a fortnight._

_Sincerely yours,_

_L. Sackville-Baggins_

The news was indeed grave, and when Bilbo had first read it, he had collapsed in his chair and wept. He still remembered the little Hobbit girl Primula, and how attached from first sight she had been to Dwalin. With time, duties, and responsibilities, her visits had come far rarer, but her letters had not. He could not fault Lobelia Sackville-Baggins for her blunt phrasing, for Bilbo remembered how close they had been; poor Lobelia was probably still in shock. For the time being, however, his own grief had to be put aside. Instead, he had to figure out what to do with this tiny Hobbit who was about to appear on their doorsteps.

Bilbo had received the letter in the morning and now it was almost time for bed. This time, the last hour before bed, was always reserved for him and Thorin alone. No matter how little they saw each other during the day, they always had this hour to relax and comfort each other, and also to talk out any problems (personal or not) that arose. Bilbo always looked forward to evenings, even when he and Thorin were upset at each other. But now, as he sat in the chair he had not moved from since he got the letter, he was filled with nervousness.

What if Thorin did not agree to keep the Hobbit chi-- Frodo? There was always so much to do, and being uncle to Fili and Kili was taxing enough. Going crazy over a visiting child was one thing, being a parent to one was completely different. Neither Thorin nor Bilbo had ever brought up the topic of children; Bilbo wasn’t sure if Thorin wanted to be a father at all! Stars above, he wasn’t sure _he_ wanted to be a father.

But there was also no way that Bilbo could ever cast poor Frodo aside. He knew that in his very bones. There was nothing to it, he would have to try every trick in his very extensive book to get Thorin to accept it. He would... he would threaten to steal the Arkenstone and run off to Thranduil if he had to! (Though inside, Bilbo knew Thorin had changed from the brash, thoughtless Dwarf he had first married: Thorin would go through fire and water to bring Bilbo back, but he would leave the Arkenstone laying on the roadside if it meant he got to his beloved a second faster.)

And speaking of Thorin...

“What has you frowning this time?” said Thorin, coming in to their chambers. He leaned down to press a soft kiss to Bilbo’s forehead, marred as it was by deep furrows. Thorin’s words and tone were light, but underneath lay a sliver of uncertainty. “Nothing too serious, I hope. Have I forgotten another Important Anniversary?”

Wordlessly, Bilbo handed him the letter. He watched Thorin’s face change as he read it, from shock, to a brief expression of grief, to... they had been married for twenty-five years and Bilbo could still never make out what that expression meant. Determination, perhaps.

Thorin read the letter twice, then looked up from it.

“This will be difficult,” he said.

Ah, there it was, the moment of truth. Not a complete _no_ , but not a complete _yes_ either. It was something Bilbo could work with.

“I know, Thorin,” Bilbo said agreeably. “But nevertheless, we must try--”

“I did not say it would be impossible,” Thorin said, holding up a hand to halt Bilbo’s speech. “But it will take time to convince the Dwarven nobles.”

“Because you see, he’s family, and we have to stick-- wait, sorry, what? What do the _nobles_ have to do with it? Convince them of what?!”

“Why, that Frodo will be third in line, of course,” replied Thorin, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. As though Bilbo was the strange one for not keeping up. He threw Bilbo a look, a look that Bilbo _did_ recognize. It meant: Are you being this foolish on purpose or something?

“Now,” the Dwarf king continued. “None of them like change very much, but I think a good third of them will listen to Balin if--”

 _If what_ , Bilbo never found out. With a broad smile, he leaped from his chair to silence Thorin with a long, deep kiss. When they finally parted, though, Thorin raised a confused eyebrow.

“I am not quite sure why mentioning Balin brought that on...” He admitted.

Bilbo just laughed, a happy, relieved laugh; a laugh that just a few hours ago he was afraid he would never be able to burst into again. He should never have doubted Thorin for a second.

\--*--*--

A fortnight later, Frodo Baggins arrived. He looked small, and sad, and confused. The Rangers who had taken him with them had tried as they could to take care of the youngling, but they had their own worries and their own responsibilities. Travelling on the road was hard, and it was harder still when one had to keep such a small child out of trouble. Frodo couldn’t be older than five; he looked completely out of place, bundled up as he was, standing in Thorin’s great hall next to those long, long Human legs. So it was with an immediate twinge of sympathy and affection that Bilbo rushed, out of the gathering crowd of courtiers, towards the child.

He was beaten there by the long, swift strides of Dwalin.

Dwalin slowed down just as he reached the Hobbit child, and stood there, looking down at him with the most heartbroken expression Bilbo had ever seen on him. Frodo’s eyes, large and shining with the same sadness, looked back up, up, up at the Dwarf.

Then he stretched out his arms in a silent plea to be lifted. And Dwalin complied, even gentler this time than he had been with Frodo’s mother so many years ago, though until now Bilbo had thought such a thing impossible. The two clung to each other, Dwalin supporting the Hobbit delicately in his large, muscular arms, and Frodo holding tight to the Dwarf’s braids and beard.

For a while Bilbo let them stay like this, bonded by their shared grief, and he too became lost in melancholy thoughts. But! Frodo was _here_ now, with him and Dwalin and Thorin and the rest. It was good to grieve, it was important to grieve, but it was equally good and important to not be consumed by it. And Bilbo hoped, with time, to coax a smile from his cousin. So, gently, he broke the two apart and plucked Frodo out of Dwalin’s arms, to perch him on his own hip.

“I am your Uncle Bilbo,” he said to Frodo. “And I would like to introduce you to some very special cousins of yours. Yes, ones you have not met before, can you imagine..!”

So saying, he walked off, Dwalin shadowing his footsteps, to introduce Frodo to the rest of his new family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading everybody. This is the first time I’ve ever posted a multi-chap fanfic, and the fact that it got it got such a tremendous reply within a _week_? Wow.
> 
> If you're interested in reading more about Primula and Dwalin, check out Linelen's beautiful _Please Allow Young Hobbits Into Your Heart_. My own sequel to this fic ( _Please Send Weekly Reports on Hobbitling Survival_ ) is about how the Quest for the Ring would turn out in this universe, where 8/9ths of the people in the Fellowship grow up as playmates/penpals/friends. (The answer is: basically it'd be a huge slumber party across Middle Earth. =P)
> 
> Anyway, if you have a minute, I'd be really happy if you left a comment. But in any case, once again, thank you so much for reading!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Please Allow Young Hobbits Into Your Heart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/702586) by [Linelen (Linelenagain)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linelenagain/pseuds/Linelen)




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